


The Curious Incident of the Pug and Barney Thomson

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Legend of Barney Thomson (2015)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, Rumbelle Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4400933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney commits another accidental murder, but it brings on a slew of problems he never saw coming.</p><p>This is my RCIJ gift for the lovely applejackcat. The prompt was "Anyelle Battlepug AU"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Incident of the Pug and Barney Thomson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [applejackcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applejackcat/gifts).



> Minor spoilers for the book "The Long Midnight of Barney Thomson". This takes place directly following that book and disregards the other books in the series. There are only minor passing references to its events though. (I haven't had a chance to see the movie yet, so no clue if it spoils anything there.)

Barney Thomson had a problem, and like all his problems it came down to an unfortunate case of accidental homicide.

He hadn’t meant to commit another murder, honestly he didn’t. But he’d been backed into a corner. A very tight corner at that.

But accidentally murdering a man in a dark alleyway in East London with a gardening trowel was the least of Barney’s problems. In fact, he’d become quite accustomed to the feel of another person’s blood on his hands, the sight of carnage, the unfortunate smell corpses tended to make when they evacuated their bowels. It wasn’t something Barney Thomson, barber, had ever thought he’d grow used to. But life was funny that way.

No, the most terrifying aspect of Barney’s current situation was the curly tail he seemed to have sprouted the first night of the full moon after the unfortunate demise of the man in the East London alleyway.

He’d just been getting ready to take a shower, stripping down to his skivvies in the small washroom of his tiny rent by the month flat when he noticed it; a protrusion so unusual and so patently unexpected that Barney fainted flat out.

He came back to himself some hours later as the first strains of sunlight were peeking through the frilly lace curtains of his living room. Curtains that had come with the partially furnished apartment. Barney had no particular proclivity for lace.

He sat up, startled to find himself passed out naked in his sitting room. Barney couldn’t remember ever sleepwalking before, but he supposed stranger things had certainly happened. Stranger things had happened to him, in actual fact. That’s when he remembered the tail, reaching behind himself to fondle his own arse and finding it blessedly free from defect.

A funny dream, that’s all it had been. Grown men didn’t suddenly sprout tails and they certainly didn’t pass out in their bathroom at the hint of one.

Feeling much better now that he’d worked out that little problem, Barney got up and headed into the kitchen to make himself breakfast.

He seemed to have ransacked his pantry at some point whilst sleepwalking the night before. His cupboard doors were hanging off their hinges, every scrap of food consumed. Spare bits of packaging, cardboard and plastic littered the floor.

He’d have to go to the shops then.

Just as well. He could use a bit of fresh air, clearly, if he was hallucinating and sleep walking.

A trip to the shops for Barney Thomson took a fair amount of prodigious skill. Rather than just nipping out to the corner for essentials, he had to be crafty. He never frequented the same store more than once, which led to some confusion as sadly not all shops stocked their shelves in the same fashion. It also required one of Barney’s many disguises.

Today, he dressed as a priest.

It had been months since he’d left Glasgow, a trail of corpses in his wake. He’d run for the English border thinking if he had a choice between going north and going south in the middle of November, south was probably the way to go.

He’d taken his time, skipping from one town to the next and never staying in one place too long until he finally made it to London. Once there, he’d embraced the anonymity of the big city. Anonymity that was unfortunately tested by one of his neighbors, determined to be friends.

But it seemed as though luck, for the first time ever, was on Barney’s side. The further south he’d gone the more his name had faded from the tabloids. By the time he made it to London, the newspapers had given him up completely, on to the next grisly story about a man who’d kept several women hostage in his back garden. No one spared a glance for old Barney Thomson. But it was better safe than sorry.

So he took the underground several blocks to a strange neighborhood and searched for the nearest Tesco whilst dressed like a priest.

Once he’d acquired enough food to reasonably keep himself going for a few days, Barney took an alternate route back to his flat. Sticking to the shadows, he made his way down his familiar street, up the stairs to the third floor of his building and arrived outside his own door with little trouble.

He breathed a sigh of relief, fumbling for his keys in his pocket while juggling his shopping bags.

“Hello, Mr. Anderson!” came a cheery voice from behind Barney. He startled, jumping and dropping his packages before turning to face the startlingly blue eyes of his neighbor, Belle.

Barney was nervous on the best of occasions these days. A life on the lam could do that to a man. But he was certain that even if the world had never heard the name Barney Thomson he’d still be just as skittish around Belle. She was simply the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen up close. She made Allan’s lovely wife Barbara look like a dog’s end.

She was also infuriatingly friendly, and she’d seemed dead set on befriending Barney, or Mr. Anderson as he was now known (Barney Anderson, truth be told. Barney was not a very creative man), ever since he’d moved in 3 weeks ago.  

“I’m so sorry,” Belle said apologetically, stooping to help Barney retrieve his sack of sad groceries. “I shouldn’t have startled you like that.”

His eyes were momentarily entranced by the sight of Belle's shapely legs as her already short skirt hitched up her thighs in her crouched position. There was entirely too much leg showing. She smelled entirely too good. Barney could almost feel himself leaning toward her like some sort of pervert.

“Uh…it’s no matter,” Barney managed to babble out, grabbing a box of jammie dodgers from her hand rather more forcefully than he’d meant to.

Belle glanced down into the grocery sack she was refilling, raising an eyebrow at the contents.

“You know, Barney,” she said affectionately, and Barney couldn’t help the little tingle that ran up his spine at his real name on her lovely lips. “A man cannot live on pot noodle alone.”

“I, uh, I manage,” he said nervously, hoping this interaction ended quickly but dreading it all the same. Seeing Belle was the highlight of his day. It was also the most terrifying. One false move of Barney’s cursed hands and she’d be dead at the foot of the stairwell despite his best intentions. With that thought, he stood from his crouched position and put more distance between them. He almost thought he saw a fleeting disappointed look cross Belle's face as she did the same, but that couldn't be right.

“Well if you ever want a real home cooked meal, you know where to find me,” she said with a genuine smile before handing him back his bag and heading into her own apartment next door. As soon as she was safely ensconced in her own home, Barney leaned back against his door with a relieved sigh. It was only then he realized he was still wearing his clerical collar.

_Shite._

* * *

The next morning, Barney was awoken by a woman’s scream.

He sat up quickly, trying to get his bearings, when he realized he wasn’t in his own bed or even his own home. Rather, he was curled up in the hallway outside his apartment.

And he wasn’t in front of his apartment, he realized with a start.

“Barney?”

He looked up guiltily, not wanting to see the face that belonged to that lovely voice with the Australian accent.

“Good morning, Belle,” he rasped out, raising his knees to try to give himself some sort of modesty.

“Rough night?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips. Any moment now she would bust out laughing at him. He’d have to bloody move. How could he face her every day after this?

“Um…” was all the articulate tongue of Barney Thomson could manage to come up with. Despite his loquaciousness, Belle didn’t laugh.

“Well it’s not every morning I find a naked man on my doorstep,” she said with a smile. “Would you like to come in?”

Barney just stared at her uncomprehendingly. After a moment, Belle turned and left, leaving the door wide open. Seconds later she reappeared with a blanket that she wrapped around Barney’s naked shoulders.

“Come in,” she said more forcefully. “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

Barney stood up, clutching the blanket around himself and shuffled in after Belle. A moment later she had him seated at her kitchen table and a cup of tea placed in his hands.

It was the first time he’d been in Belle’s flat. Despite having a similar layout to his own, it was like being in another world. Everything was neat and tidy. There were colorful tea towels and little paintings of different types of herbs throughout her kitchen. He glanced in to her sitting room where a small sofa faced the television, another blanket thrown over the arm of the couch. Her coffee table had candles and fresh flowers on it. In one corner was a heavily laden bookshelf, sagging under the weight of so many tomes. It was homey and lovely in a way Barney’s sparse flat could never hope to be.

“So,” she prompted. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Barney startled at her words. For a moment, he’d forgotten why he was here, that he’d apparently passed out naked in Belle’s doorway. The uncomfortable fact of the matter was that he hadn’t the foggiest idea of how he’d ended up there.

“I don’t know,” he said, gripping the teacup to give himself something to do with his hands. The blanket began to slip down around his shoulders and Barney scrambled to preserve what was left of his modesty.

“You don’t know if you want to talk about it, or you don’t know what happened?” Belle asked, taking a sip of her own tea.

“Both?” Barney said by way of answer.

Belle nodded, turning to flip on the small television on the kitchen counter to the local morning news.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here,” she said. “I’ve got another hour and half until I have to be at work.”

"Where do you work?" Barney asked, realizing despite Belle being the only familiar face he saw these days he knew very little about her. 

"The British Library," Belle replied, her eyes lighting up. He should have guessed from all the books he supposed. "I'm a curator and researcher there."

Barney just nodded, suitably impressed. Belle seemed smart. It followed she'd have a smart job. 

"And you?" she prodded. "What exactly is it you do?"

Barney couldn't help but recall the clerical collar from the day before and wonder if she thought him a priest. But Barney's soul was damned enough without impersonating the clergy. 

"Oh a little of this, little of that," he said, hating how shallow and unsettled that sounded. Belle had a proper job. He'd had one of those once. "I'm a barber by trade though and a damned good one at that..." he trailed off, wondering if perhaps he'd said too much. 

"Well that sounds lovely," Belle said sincerely. "I hope you're able to get back into that."

Barney shrugged, his attention sliding to the television over Belle’s shoulder. At least she didn’t have soaps on. He’d seen enough of those to last a lifetime, though part of him did wonder if Sludge and Sandpaper had ever found out the paternity of Silver’s daughter Silo.

“And caught on video in the wee hours of the morning, the world’s largest pug dog,” came the voice of the anchor from the TV as a grainy black and white video showed a giant dog prancing down the street. “A dog estimated to be around 15 hands tall wreaked havoc around London last night, knocking over bins, urinating on the sides of buildings and even ripping the tire off a lorry to use as a chew toy. The dog was caught on no less than 4 security videos around central London. If you have any information on the whereabouts of the pug dog, you’re asked to call the proper authorities. And now for the weather…”

“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Belle, whose eyes were also riveted by the news. “You don’t see that every day, do you?”

But Barney wasn’t listening. He was too busy having flashbacks of the night before. He had a hazy memory of pissing on the side of Harrod’s, streaking through Hyde Park and ending it all chewing on a tire outside Paddington Station. How had he done all that whilst sleepwalking? How had he made it all the way there and home on his bare feet?

Barney felt an uncomfortable tingle up his spine. He’d done all the things the big pug had been accused of.

“Barney?” Belle called, concern coloring her voice. “Are you alright?”

“I have to go!” he exclaimed, standing up so quickly that the blanket threatened to slip off him and expose him to his pretty neighbor. “Thanks for the tea. Mind if I return the blanket later?”

“Go ahead,” Belle replied still looking concerned. “Are you sure you’re…”

But Barney had bolted out the door before she could finish her sentence.

* * *

Barney spent the rest of the day sequestered in his apartment. It all made sense now. The tail he’d been so sure he’d dreamed. Waking up naked in his sitting room. The state of his pantry the next morning. He must have transformed into that…thing twice now.

He wasn’t sure what had caused him to leave his home and run around central London the night before, but he couldn’t risk it again. What if he were captured? Animal control would lock him up only to find fugitive Barney Thomson naked in the kennel the next day. That would be a laugh for the Glasgow police who’d wanted him for months.

No, he had to take precautions.

This would all be easier if he could tell someone, share his burden somehow.

Barney allowed himself, for half a moment, to fantasize about telling Belle the truth. He could march next door, tell her he had a sinking suspicion that he turned into a bloody great pug the night before and have her fawn all over him. Women liked cute little dogs, didn’t they? Barney wouldn’t call a pug cute, but he was sure he’d seen ladies fawning over the short snouted things before. He imagined there was a certain charm to their bug eyes and curly tails. Maybe she’d be into it. Maybe she’d pin him down to her sofa and ride him into everlasting bliss. Maybe they could run away together, find themselves on some beach somewhere far from rainy Britain. Belle could wear a tiny little bikini and they'd drink out of coconuts and Barney turning into a pug would be a great party trick that gained him admiration wherever he went.

Then he imagined sitting on Belle and crushing her to death in his canine form and the pretty little dream popped like a bubble.

No, as with everything else, Barney had to do this alone.

So he set about securing his apartment. He thought it was best to lock himself in the bedroom. There was enough room in there to transform and it would leave the rest of the flat unmolested.

It took a while to maneuver all the furniture into the front room including bed, wardrobe and desk. Then he made a quick trip to the hardware store for additional supplies.

He supposed he had a voracious appetite whilst a pug so he rummaged through his cabinets for food, laying out a spread of crisps, biscuits and sandwiches on the floor of his bedroom. Then he began installing the padlocks he’d purchased along his bedroom door.

He’d worked with clear purpose into early evening when there was suddenly a loud knock on his door causing him to drop the drill he’d been using and nearly slice open his own foot.

“Bloody hell!”

“Barney,” came a concerned voice from outside his front door. “Is everything alright in there?”

Barney sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe of his bedroom. Now was a very bad time to hear from Belle. It was nearly nightfall and he had to secure the room before his transformation.

“Fine!” he called back, his voice cracking on the simple word. He cleared his throat before trying again. “Absolutely fine. Just moving a bit of furniture.”

There was a pause on the other side of the door and he hoped she’d gone away. No such luck it seemed.

“Can I come in?” Belle called. “I made soup. I thought you might not be feeling well from this morning.”

Barney hesitated, his hands fluttering around himself as though he didn’t know what to do with them. He liked Belle. A lot. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. And the fact that she’d thought of him enough to make him dinner set off little butterflies in Barney’s stomach.

But he also didn’t want to transform into a pug and devour her whole if he let her in.

“Just a second,” he replied finally, kicking the drill, spare bits of wood and hardware into the bedroom and closing the door. Then he headed for the front, cracking the door open to see Belle looking lovely and sweet and carrying a large Tupperware container filled with a hearty looking beef and vegetable.

“Soup?” she said, holding the container forward.

Barney sighed, opening the door further and ushering her inside.

Belle took in the state of his sitting room with wide eyes. The sofa had been pushed to one side to make way for his bedroom furniture, all crowded into the room haphazardly.

“Redecorating?” she asked.

“Uh, something like that,” he replied, leading Belle to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?”

He could have kicked himself, manners overcoming common sense. He needed Belle to leave and fast.

“Tea would be lovely,” Belle said with a smile, setting the soup down on the counter before pulling out a chair at the worn kitchen table.

Barney twisted his hands together trying to think of a polite way to tell her to leave, but none was forthcoming.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said instead, gritting his teeth as he busied himself. A few moments later he had a pot of tea on the table before Belle, pushing a cup, sugar and milk at her and mentally urging her to hurry along.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Barney?” Belle asked, pausing in her tea preparations. “You seem upset.”

Barney nearly upended the table in frustration.

“Fine,” he said succinctly. Belle set her teacup down, looking at him with her beautiful blue eyes and her kind smile and she was so pretty he wanted to die right then and there to never risk harming her.

“Look, I get it,” she said, laying a sympathetic hand over Barney’s that he had to consciously refrain from jerking back from. “My dad had his demons. Used to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle to try to shut out the world after my mum died. I don’t want to see what happened to him happen to anyone else.”

“What?” he said, rather unkindly. The clock was ticking and he needed Belle to leave. He had no time for a heart to heart conversation as much as he’d have loved to hear her whole life story at another time.

“I’ve seen this kind of behavior before,” she said, gesturing toward the packed living room.

“You think this morning was because of drink?” Barney finally cottoned on, pulling his hand back as he understood her meaning.

“You were naked and disoriented,” Belle pointed out.

“No, no, no,” he interjected. “You’ve got this all wrong. I’m not a drinker, Belle. Well, no more than any other man.”

“But this morning,” she began.

“I wasn’t out all night on a bender,” he explained. “I was just…” he trailed off, not sure what else to say.

“What?” Belle prompted.

“It’s hard to explain, and I’ve no doubt you’d think I was crazy.”

Belle’s wide blue eyes didn’t leave his, so understanding and good. He couldn’t burden her with this.

“You know, maybe I did have too much to drink after all,” he said, standing from the table. “You can go now, thank you for the soup. I do appreciate it.”

“Barney,” Belle said firmly. “What happened last night?”

He slumped back down into his chair. With any luck she’d think he was crazy and run for the hills never to see him again.

“You remember that great, bloody pug from the news this morning?”

“Yeah,” Belle replied, clearly confused as to where he was going.

“That was me,” he said miserably. “I somehow…turned in to that thing and I didn’t remember until I saw the footage. Then it all came back to me. But I did that, somehow.”

Belle reached forward, laying her hand across his forehead as if checking for a fever.

“Look, I’m not sick,” he said exasperatedly. “And I know it sounds insane, but it’s what happened.”

“Okay,” Belle said slowly, calmly, as if trying not to rattle his cage. “You believe you turned into a pug last night.”

“I know I did,” Barney sighed. “I remember the rubber taste of the lorry tire in my mouth. I remember swimming across the Thames. I remember running down Brompton Road and knocking over bins.”

“Barney,” Belle said shaking her head sadly.

“You need to leave,” he interrupted her. “Because I could turn at any moment and God knows what I could do to you if you’re here.”

Belle shook her head again, smiling this time. She reached forward and cupped his cheeks.

“I’m going to stay, Barney,” she said reassuringly. “And when you’re still you after nightfall you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”

“No, Belle,” he said frantically. “You can’t…ach!”

His words were cut off by a sharp pain in his backside. Scrambling to his feet, Barney clawed at his trousers, getting them open before looking behind himself to see the telltale curly tail.

“It’s too late,” he said miserably. And then Barney did his great party trick, promptly transforming into a giant pug.

* * *

The next morning, Barney awoke to the face of Belle French for the second time in as many days. If not for the unusual circumstances, he would have counted himself quite lucky.

“What happened?” he asked, sitting up frantically from where he’d been asleep with his head pillowed on Belle’s lap. They were in the corner of his kitchen, Belle’s back pressed against the cupboard doors. If she’d slept like that she couldn’t have been very comfortable. Barney was, once again, completely naked. Though Belle must have had the forethought to cover him with a blanket prior to his transforming back into a human. He was mightily grateful for that.

“You ate the soup,” she said tiredly, motioning at the chewed on Tupperware container on the floor not far from them. “Then you chased your tail for a bit before you fell asleep with your head on my lap. It was really quite cute.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” he said, searching her over for any sign of harm.

“Not at all,” Belle laughed. “You’re as gentle and kind a pug as you are man.”

If only she knew the truth. Barney the pug would probably accidentally assassinate political leaders and topple governments if left to his own devices.

Belle stood up from her place on the floor and stretched, lifting her arms high in the air and arching her back. The position did things to Barney he’d rather not think about at the moment and he turned away, shamefaced.

“Why don’t you clean up, get some clothes on and come over to mine,” Belle said softly. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

A quick shower and change of clothes later found Barney on Belle’s doorstep. He’d had to pick plastic out of his teeth from the Tupperware. Apparently his dog form was indiscriminate on what he chose to feast on. He thought Belle seemed to have taken his transformation remarkably well. But he couldn’t remember the particulars of the night before. Perhaps she’d spent the entire evening freaking out and was just exhausted into complacency. Either way, Barney was sorry he’d dragged Belle into this mess. She’d only tried to be his friend, to be a good neighbor and bring by a pot of soup. Now she was embroiled in the case of the giant pug.

But Belle was bright eyed and freshly laundered when she opened the door to him, ushering him in with a wide smile. Any exhaustion she had felt from dealing with the pug all evening seemed to have burned off as she motioned for him to sit on the couch. She had a number of books spread out on her coffee table, each open to various pages. Barney pulled the closest one to him to see it was reference book on the occult. Belle had it opened to a passage about lycanthropy.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“I thought about it all night and I think I can help you,” she said excitedly. “You see I’m curating an exhibit on the occult at the library. You can’t possibly be the first person this has happened to. I think maybe I could find some sort of causal link or perhaps some sort of mythology that might shed light on what’s happening.”

Barney just blinked at her. The exhausted woman he’d seen in his kitchen an hour before seemed to have vanished in the face of this new person keen on a new intellectual pursuit.

“When did this all start?” she asked, looking at him with interest. There was a time in his life when Barney would have given anything to have a woman like Belle looking at him like that. He’d never been of much interest to anyone of the opposite sex, not even his own wife. But now he just wished he could fade into the paisley print of her couch cushions never to be seen again.

“Um, two days ago,” he answered vaguely.

“Did anything prompt it?”

Barney twisted his hands in his lap, wondering how much he should divulge. Belle was sweet and kind. She would understand. The incident with the gardening trowel had been an accident. And even if it hadn’t been, it was self-defense! There was no need to hide.

“I accidentally killed a man with a gardening trowel,” he said miserably. “He had me cornered!” he was quick to add. “He was trying to mug me. There were some gardening pots sitting outside the side of a building and I grabbed a trowel to defend myself. The ground was uneven and he tripped right into me, landed on me trowel and here we are.”

Belle just stared at him.

“Seriously?” she asked. “You killed someone with a trowel? Did you call the police? What did you do with the body?”

“I just left it there,” Barney said honestly. He definitely wasn’t about to call the coppers but he couldn’t quite tell Belle the reason why. And he definitely didn’t want to bother with disposing of another body. He didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable with his mother’s method and dumping Chris in the loch had proved a terrible idea.

“Some poor man bled out in the street and his body wasn’t even buried?” Belle looked stricken.

“Poor man?” Barney exclaimed. “He was going to mug me! He had a knife! And apparently he had some…disease that made him a great bloody pug!”

A wrinkle formed between Belle’s brows at that. “Yes,” she said. “Perhaps it was a curse that was passed on to you when you killed him.”

“Curse?” Barney sputtered, dumbfounded.

“Where did you leave the body?” Belle continued as though she hadn’t just dropped the curse bomb on him. “I think we should call in an anonymous tip.”

“It was right outside an inhabited building,” Barney reasoned. “I’m sure someone found him.”

Belle looked pensive. “I’ll check the papers for any mention of bodies found in the area. If we can find out who he was, maybe we can find out the origin of this thing.”

She stood up quickly, grabbing her jacket from a hook next to the front door. “I’ve got to get to work. I’ll try to find anything in the archives about giant pugs that might help us.”

“Okay,” Barney said, still sitting on her couch.

“Lock up when you leave, will you?” she asked. “I’ll see you tonight.”

And then she was gone. What a strange girl and entirely too trusting. Barney just admitted to murder, even one in self defense, and she’d left him unattended in her apartment.

He stood up quickly, leaving behind Belle. He didn’t want to cause any more mayhem in her life than he already had.

* * *

That evening found him back at Belle’s flat eating steak and kidney pie while she told him what she’d learned at work, or rather what she hadn’t.

“I’ve found tons of resources on lycanthropy, even transformations into forms other than wolves, but there’s nothing about pugs at all.”

Barney hadn’t really expected her posh library to turn up information on his condition. He was fairly certain he was the first person in the history of the world to have this particular affliction.

“I did find out that the man you killed was called Terrance,” she added conversationally and Barney almost choked on his pie. “He had a history of violent crime so perhaps you did the world a favor. I couldn’t find anything that indicated he had a history of turning into a pug though.” 

“So we’re not much better off then, are we?” he asked miserably. He didn’t know how long he could handle turning into a giant dog. Though he did suppose it had brought him Belle. If he hadn’t turned up on her doorstep the other day he’d never have really got to know her.

“You might just have to live with it, Barney,” she said consolingly.

“Turning into a giant bloody pug by night?” he exclaimed. “How do you learn to live with that?”

Belle looked pensive for a moment. “Well I don’t think it’s every night,” she reasoned. “If we’re following the logic of werewolves, it could be related to phases of the moon.”

Barney just stared at Belle for a long moment, scarcely believing what he was hearing.

“Logic of _werewolves_?” he repeated. “Belle, there’s no such thing.”

Belle gave him a withering glance.

“Barney, I hate to break it to you, but you’re a werepug.”

Barney had never thought of himself as being extraordinary in any way. His brief foray into the world of serial killing had been entirely accidental and entirely unwanted. Now he seemed to have taken on some sort of supernatural power and the thought alone left his head spinning.

Not to mention that his cursed form was the most non-threatening, docile creature in existence. When he transformed, by Belle’s account, he was no more than a voraciously hungry nuisance, fond of giving kisses and receiving belly scratches. The most damage he did was to the pantry. He rather thought Belle was more fond of him in his canine state than his human one.

Barney didn’t blame her for that.

“Look, this isn’t the end of the world,” Belle said calmingly. “There are definitely worse things you could have turned into. Pugs are delightful.”

“They’re useless,” Barney grunted out.

Belle stifled a giggle, trying to school her features into something sympathetic.

“All we have to do is find a secure place for you stay when you’re transformed. No more running about London pissing on the sides of buildings. You’re not aggressive. If we get you enough food and comfortable place to sleep, I don’t think there’s any reason this should disrupt your everyday life.”

But that was just the thing. Barney didn’t have an everyday life as most people did. He worked odd jobs for cash. He never stayed in one place too long. Adding this new problem on top of his old problems made any kind of ordinary life far from his reach.

“Belle, there’s something you need to know about me,” he began haltingly.

“Something more than the giant pug thing?” she asked, all wide-eyed innocence. And in retrospect “I’m wanted for several murders I didn’t commit and 2 that I did but it was an accident” wasn’t nearly as hard a pill to swallow as the one she’d already accepted. Still, before she helped him any more, she had a right to know.

“Anderson’s not my real name,” he said, hanging his head, too ashamed to meet her eye. “My real name is Barney Thomson.”

There was a flurry of activity next to him as Belle stood up quickly. He had no doubt she was trying to put as much distance between herself and a serial murderer as possible. He was just deciding to leave, pack up his few belongings and split town before she called the police when Belle returned, slapping something down on the table in front of him.

 _Thomson wanted for additional murders in Croydon. Also suspected in Scotland’s loss to Morocco in ‘98,_ a copy of the Daily Record from several weeks ago proclaimed.

Barney looked up from the newspaper where a grainy photograph of himself stared up at him, to Belle, and back.

“What?” was all he managed to squeak out.

“I know who you are,” Belle said softly, taking her seat once more beside him. “I’ve known since the first day I saw you.”

None of this made the least bit of sense. If Belle had suspected she was living next door to a dangerous fugitive, why hadn’t she called the police?

“How?” he asked.

“To be honest, you weren’t very good at hiding,” she admitted. At Barney’s stunned expression, she continued. “Some days you were dressed as a traffic guard, some days a construction worker. It was like living next to a member of the Village People, Barney. Though I will admit the priest get up was kind of hot.”

Barney felt his eyes bulge in his head at her words sure he must have misunderstood.

“Not to mention the fact that half the time I ran into you, you were wearing an obviously fake moustache,” she continued, before he could ask about her priest comment. “Why not just grow a real one?”

Barney shrugged, bristling at her critique of his ingenious disguises. “Have to keep changing it up, don’t I?”

Belle just stifled another laugh. He must look a real wanker to her now. Some dangerous criminal, he couldn’t even hide from the neighbors.

“Do you think anyone else has realized?” he asked, suddenly terrified that the building was slowly being surrounded by heavily armed police. He imagined a collection of red laser dots on his chest as they sighted him through Belle’s lace covered windows.

“Honestly, I don’t think anyone else has even realized your apartment was let,” she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. It sent tingles throughout his whole body.

“But why haven’t you called the authorities?” he asked, finally getting around to probably the most important question. “Why didn’t you report me?”

Belle stood up, pacing a little before her coffee table.

“I’ve always been a bit of a true crime junkie,” she said, blushing slightly. “I followed your story in the papers and the more I read about you, the more things didn’t add up.”

“Oh?” Barney asked, wary as to where she was going.

“I don’t think you killed all those people, Barney,” she said sympathetically. “I think you got caught in a bad situation by an inept police force in a pissing contest that just wanted to pin the whole thing on you. Am I right?”

“More or less,” Barney shrugged. “Though, I do think I should tell you that I killed Wullie and Chris. It was an accident though! I didn’t mean to. Wullie slipped and fell on my scissors and Chris fell and cracked his head.”

Belle was quiet for a long moment and Barney thought he probably should have just kept his mouth shut.

“I believe you,” she said finally, settling on the couch next to him and leaning her head against his shoulder. “You’re not the type for serial murder.”

For the first time in a long time, Barney felt a flutter of hope in his chest. Maybe he wasn’t alone, and maybe his innocence wasn’t such a hard proved thing after all.

* * *

That night’s transformation was different. Belle had decided that Barney should stay at her apartment so she could consult her books if needed and still be within easy reach of him. She had barricaded the door to her apartment, relegating Barney to the back bedroom. She’d stripped the bed so his fur didn’t get all over her linens and left an assortment of snack foods, minus chocolate, by the door. As the moon began to rise, Barney disrobed and prepared for the inevitable.

When twenty minutes had passed without him sprouting a tail, he’d started to get a bit cold. After another ten minutes, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Bark once if everything’s okay,” came Belle’s voice from the hall.

“Everything’s fine,” he called back. “I don’t think it’s happening tonight.”

“Hmm,” Belle returned thoughtfully. “So I suppose it relates to the full moon along with the first waning and waxing gibbous phases.”

Barney just grunted, feeling increasingly silly about sitting naked in his beautiful neighbor’s bedroom. Especially when the beautiful neighbor herself was yelling to him through the door.

“Can I come in?” she asked finally and Barney popped up, covering himself with his hands.

“I’m not wearing any pants,” he warned.

Belle snorted. “Well that’s sort of the status quo of our relationship. I think I’ve seen you more often sans pants than with them lately.”

Barney had to concede that as the truth. He’d woken up naked three days in a row and Belle was there for two of them. Still, he wanted to preserve what little modesty he had left. He hoped rather than believed she’d yet to see his cock in all its lacking glory. He cringed at that thought.

“Just a moment,” he returned, grabbing his pants from their neat pile on the floor and pulling them on once again.

“Okay,” he called once that was done, crossing his arms over his exposed chest and wishing he’d replaced his shirt as well. But Belle was already pushing open the door.

“So this is good,” she said cheerfully. “Now we know to look for this three nights a month. The rest of the time you should be your normal self.”

“We?” he asked weakly. “Belle, you know who I am. I can’t stay anywhere too long. I’ve got to go soon.”

Belle looked stricken and he wished more than anything he could take back the words. He never wanted to see her look anything but happy.

“But who will take care of you?” she asked in a small voice.

Barney’s heart soared at her words. No one in all his years had ever expressed a wish to take care of him. Not even his own mother. Now this beautiful woman who’d known him mere weeks was more invested in him than people he’d known his whole life. Barney Thomson knew he was nothing special. But Belle made him feel like maybe he was and he hated to lose that.

“I can take care of myself,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I’ve probably put you in danger imposing like this. If the police come sniffing around and they find out you’ve been in contact with me you could be in real trouble.”

“I don’t care,” Belle said, pulling him over to sit on the bed and holding his hand lightly in hers. The soft pad of her thumb trailed over the back of Barney’s hand and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through him.

“Why?” he asked, mesmerized by the sight of her thumb running over his hand again and again. “Why do you care about me?”

Belle smiled ducking her head to try to get Barney to meet her eyes.

“Because you’re a good man, Barney Thomson. I know you don’t think that’s true but it is. And every day since I met you has been an adventure.”

“But I’m nothing,” he countered. “I’m not worth your notice. I’m…”

His words were silenced by Belle’s lips pressing against his, stealing his breath away. Well, he certainly hadn’t expected that.

He was helpless but to kiss her back finding himself tethered to her lips, not even wanting to break away for oxygen.

It was awkward at first. Barney wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands. It had been a very long time since he’d been in this position and never with such an enthusiastic partner. But Belle was more than happy to lead, scrambling onto his lap and placing his hands firmly on her hips as she straddled him.

Belle continued to kiss him, running her fingers through his hair and letting her nails scratch along his scalp in a way that sent electric shocks through his entire body centering at his groin. Barney allowed his hands to roam her back, moving up to tangle in her hair before sliding back down almost to her backside. He wasn’t quite brave enough to try that yet.

He could feel himself hardening in his trousers, certain that Belle would be able to feel it, straddling him as she was with her legs on either side of his hips. But she didn’t pull away at the feel, only pressed herself closer until Barney was going mad with desire for her.

Something animalistic seemed to kick in at the back of his brain. Perhaps it was his newfound powers. Perhaps he’d just never been in a position to make love to a woman as beautiful as Belle. Whatever the reason, for the first time in his life, Barney found himself taking charge.

He tightened his grip on Belle, flipping them over so that her back was pressed against the bare mattress, Barney between her legs. She let out a surprised little squeal at the movement, but before Barney could rethink his actions, she’d gripped him by the back of the head pulling him down for another kiss.

Barney let himself be lead by the beast inside, roaring and snapping and only wanting Belle. He broke away from her lips, kissing down her throat and across her chest. It was as though he was having an out of body experience. The meek Barney he’d always been was helpless but to watch as this new Barney took over. The beast in Barney mouthed at Belle’s breasts through her shirt in a way Barney never could have imagined in his wildest dreams. Belle let out a heady moan, burying her fingers in his hair as he settled himself between her thighs. A moment later he’d buried his face against her most intimate places, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her arousal, licking his lips at the overwhelming aura of her.

“Yes, Barney!” Belle groaned out, her hands gripping his hair even tighter.

He pulled back enough to tug her underwear off, tossing it over his shoulder and then he was back where he wanted to be. She was wet, so wet, and Barney lapped at her with the flat of his tongue as Belle’s profuse encouragement spurred him onward.

His beastly confidence sadly did not extend to actual experience of which Barney had little. He’d done this once or twice before and never to great acclaim, but Belle’s grip on his hair directed him where he needed to be. Her moans and platitudes told him when he was doing the right thing and before long Belle was tightening, shuddering, calling his name out to the room in orgasmic bliss.

He continued to lap at her, his tongue trailing from her molten hot core up to circle her clit and back when Belle finally shoved him away, panting and twitching.

“My God, Barney,” she managed hoarsely. “How am I supposed to let you go now?”

Barney smiled, feeling himself buoyed by pride. He’d made Belle feel good. She didn’t want to let him go. It was the best feeling in the world and he felt he might owe it all to Terrance and his pug problem. Or perhaps the animalistic side of Barney had always existed somewhere deep down covered by years of harassment and broken dreams. Maybe it was Belle that was the difference. Someone believed in him at long last.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to let her go either.

His thoughts were interrupted by Belle cupping his erection through his trousers and all his inflated sense of self worth came crashing down around him.

Well, his newfound confidence could only last so long.

“What are you doing?” he asked blankly as Belle rubbed a soft hand along the length of him.

“I was going to return the favor,” she said with a smirk, looking up at him coyly.

Oh,” Barney said, before cottoning on and realizing just what she was saying. “Oh! You, you don’t have to do that.”

He pulled away from her, his back coming into hard contact with the wall on the side of the bed.

“Barney,” Belle said soothingly, her hand trailing against his cheek. “Relax.”

All he could do was nod as Belle went to work on his trouser buttons. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment and disgust in her eyes when she finally got his pants off. Barney knew he was nothing special to look at, but Belle had seemed to like him so far. But there was nothing impressive going on in his trousers.

Belle made an appreciative little moan in the back of her throat and Barney’s eyes popped open to find her staring at him appraisingly, licking her bottom lip.

“You have a very nice cock, Barney,” she said, reaching out to stroke him.

“I do?” he asked with disbelief.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you?”

Barney’s pride started to swell along with something else.

“No,” he admitted.

Belle made a sympathetic noise, leaning forward to kiss him softly before her lips trailed lower, finally wrapping around his cock and nearly sending Barney through the roof.

She licked along the length of him, trailing her tongue around his base before stroking upward. Her hand dropped to his balls, massaging him gently and it took all Barney’s willpower not to explode on the spot. He might be inexperienced, but Belle clearly knew exactly what she was doing.

She moaned around his cock, bobbing her head down until she was taking almost the entire length of him. Barney could feel the back of her throat against his head and he scrabbled to grip on to the mattress certain this wouldn’t last longer than he could count to five.

Her tongue was doing delicious things, painting little circles against his skin and Barney couldn’t take any more, his hips thrusting off the bed, stomach muscles clenching.

“Stop!” he yelled out, pushing at Belle’s shoulder. She pulled off him looking concerned and a moment later he erupted, coming in long glistening ropes that landed across his belly.

Barney covered his face with his hands, mortified. They hadn’t even had a chance to consummate this strange relationship of theirs. He knew he wouldn’t last, couldn’t last faced with Belle’s perfection. He was naked and covered in his own come while Belle was still completely dressed minus her knickers.

“Barney?” she asked, concern coloring her voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably, not taking his hands away from his face. “I’m useless.”

There was no sound from Belle, but his hands finally fell from his face at the feeling of her tongue against his lower belly. Barney looked down to see Belle lapping up where he’d spilled himself, glancing up at him from beneath her long lashes. The sight almost had him hard again though his refractory period wasn’t quite that good. It did give him some hope for the rest of the evening though.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” she said, crawling up his chest to kiss him, his taste on her lips.

“Aye, well you definitely did that,” he conceded.

“You made me feel good too,” she said, pulling him down to lie next to her on the bed and wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I am sorry,” he continued. “Maybe later we could try again or…”

“Barney,” Belle interrupted him. “Go to sleep. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

He knew that wasn’t quite true. The pug problem seemed to be gone for the moment, but it would come around again. And the fact that Barney was still on the lam hung over his head like a dark cloud. But for now, feeling pleasantly heavy and boneless, with Belle wrapped up in his arms, Barney was happier than he thought he’d ever been.

Not even a perfect Frank Sinatra ’62 in the first chair of Henderson’s barbershop on a sunny day in Glasgow could compare.

 


End file.
